Torment
by IceMaidenOfLegend
Summary: She was his prisoner. He was a world ruler. He was without heart. She was without her strength. However, not all was as it was meant to be. Neither was it all that it appeared.


Torment

The world is a dark place. Humanity has been enslaved. Countless lives are at the mercy of a single ruler. He refuses to show the world mercy. He lives in luxurious shadows. His name is Jellal.

It is the five hundredth night of his reign. As he sits in his throne, illuminated only by the stray moonlight he is approached. His servants, swathed in dark fabrics and shielded by hoods bring him a _gift_. He notes immediately that there are three escorts. His curiosity is instantly piqued.

As his gift is brought forward the light reaches her. Her hair is stunning scarlet. The colour reminds him of the bloodiest sunsets and battlefields. He smirks, his hand covering his mouth. He appears to be thinking deeply. He can't be known for showing enjoyment no matter how twisted an enjoyment it is.

"My lord, we bring you a rebel," one of his servants rasps. "She is a gift of conquest for you. Her name is well known amongst the ranks of her peers. Shall we deliver news of her demise?"

He waves them away. His eyes are narrowed into a fierce glare. They struggle to control their pace. He can see that they want nothing more than to flee. Beneath their mysterious air they are nothing more than cowards. That can be said for all his subjects – except, perhaps, the one before him.

"Deliver the news," he orders as they reach the door. "Deliver only the news."

His patience extends to the closing of the door. The moment the great mechanism locks into place, he stands. She is on her knees. Her hands are bound behind her back. A gag silences her. Her clothes are torn and aged. Her skin is criss-crossed with knife wounds.

"State your name," he slowly approaches.

She scoffs and turns her head away slightly. "Erza,"

"What is your full name, brave warrior Erza?" he grins.

"That is my full name," her voice is low.

Jellal stops before her. His feet are inches from her knees and face. The confession startles him. He has never known of anyone to have only one name. It seems like an odd impossibility. He purses his lips thoughtfully.

The single moment of hesitation is enough. The ropes binding her ankles prove to be useless. She swings her leg around. He moves just in time. The speed of her attack startles him. He takes a moment to compose himself.

_Thump_. The sound is soft. She is on one knee. Her hands are still bound. Her head is still lowered. He would almost take it as submission if not for her heart. He's seen many like her before. He thought that all of the true martyrs had vanished from the world under his rule. Her heart of the martyr burns with determination and true strength. She is a rare find.

"Well, Erza, it seems that we have an understanding," he smirks.

Day Eight

The sun shines somewhere. Erza doesn't remember the feel of its light on her skin. She doesn't recall the warmth of its touch. She can barely recall the sight of it.

Time has long since flowed into a constant continuance of darkness. She hasn't eaten well in days. She tried to survive in order to escape. It would boost the morale of her comrades if she returned to them. However, Erza had realised all too late that the less she ate the less she was given.

Her confinement to the small, dimly lit room filled the scent of damp and mildew has been torture in itself. Her lungs have been infested with illness. She has coughed small amounts of blood. The taste has tainted her tongue. Her strength has waned. Her power has abandoned her.

She regrets nothing.

Her situation would be far more favourable if her behaviour had been. Alas, she spat in Lord Jellal's face. She also tried to bite his nose. He proved to be too fast. His evasion was more infuriating than she had imagined. His one act has haunted her imprisonment.

"You have a guest," a gruff voice calls from beyond the steel door.

She ignores him. There's no reason for her to care. She plans to waste away. She plans for them to lower their guard. Then, when all life seems lost she will attack. The plan is for the person bringing her food to be slain. She will then escape and re-join her comrades.

The door crunches against the uneven ground. Erza's back is to the person. She can smell food. It isn't her usual meal time. In the rebel camps there were rumours of 'night aches' where there was no food given overnight. Then it would progress to no food in the afternoon. It would continue until the person had died.

The tray nudges Erza's back. She continues to ignore it. However, her _visitor_ remains in the room with her.

"Aren't you hungry?" his voice is taunting.

"What would a Lord of the world want with me?" she sneers.

"You would be surprised," he chuckles, lowering onto his haunches. "I think it's about time that I brought you back. You've spent long enough in this place… I haven't even shown you your room yet."

She growls quietly. Her strength is too weak. She could kill an unsuspecting person. She couldn't attack a man who's probably counting her attempting to do so.

"You should eat something. It isn't nice when women starve themselves. Skin and bones alone is disgusting," he mutters.

"I'll come with you," she concedes. "I'm not eating _that_, though. It's one of the reasons that I want out."

He laughs loudly. The sound makes her flinch. It's not unnatural. It's not unpleasant. He sounds sincere and warm. It's the laugh of a kind heart.

Day Nineteen

The room is large. The colour scheme is between aqua and turquoise. There are few furnishings. Erza has access to a wardrobe, a coffee table, a small couch, a huge bed and a chandelier. There is a spacious balcony to the left of the room with a view of the small port – the only way into and out of the tower. To the right of the room is a small door which leads to an equally small bathroom.

She yawns tiredly as the servants pull and tug on her clothes. She's hated having people to dress her. They always tie the corsets too tight. They choose the most uncomfortable shoes. The skirts are outrageous and require a cage to hold them in place. The dresses are no better. They include all of the trimmings of the corset and skirt with an added underdress.

As they work the servants' gossip. They gossip mostly of her. Their words are intentionally cruel. They speak louder at the most insulting and demeaning of insults. They want to break her spirit. She refuses to be defeated by such people.

"I can't imagine why _Lord_ Jellal wants her," one sneers. "She's an enemy. She should have her head on a pike."

"She's clinging to her own pathetic life. Lord Jellal is only extending his humblest of wishes for the most horrific of deaths. He doesn't need time to plot deaths. He just wants to make hers extra special," another laughs.

Erza knows as well as they do that her clothes are on properly. They just want to make their unchanging speeches heard again. She doesn't stop them. Their pettiness is amusing. She knows that a small fraction of her heart believes them. She's willing to take the pain. Their words are only words despite her heartbreakingly cruel those words are.

A loud knock comes to the door. The servants' valuable gossiping time has been stolen away. Their expressions twist and contort into feeble masks of supposedly unforgiving rage.

"Who is it? We're working!" the second servant snaps.

An arrogant voice replies. "Such slow workers have no place here. Prepare your resignation. I intend to see you gone today,"

"_Lord Jellal_!"

They flee from the room. Their frantic flailing and flapping makes Erza grin. She retreats at a leisurely pace to the small couch. It's not a particularly soft one. It doesn't offer much comfort. She just doesn't want him to be near her bed. He could plant slugs under the covers for all that she knows.

"I've made time to see you. I don't do that for many," he frowns at her from the doorway.

"I'm so blessed," she replies quietly. "What does the great Lord Jellal want with me? What could possibly be so important?"

"I'm going to the battlefield at the border of Fiōre. It's near-" he explains.

"I don't want to know. You can go and kill as many people as you like. Nothing will change. You will be destroyed someday," Erza snarls.

Jellal stares at her for a moment. Her shoulders are shaking violently. He can feel her rage and frustration. Somehow, despite the threat that she poses he remains calm.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" he asks quietly.

"No… I don't…" she sighs.

He sits on the arm of the couch. "Tell me what you don't believe in,"

"You…" she stares into his eyes. "You're not the same as the others. You have a conscience. I can feel it. You've hidden it well, buried it somewhere deep but it's there. This war, this violence and all of these pointless deaths… You're a proxy, aren't you?"

He glowers at her. "Don't speak of this to anyone else!"

He storms away. She watches him leave. His temper flares wildly like a forest blaze.

As he reaches the door she calls to him. "You didn't threaten to harm my friends,"

Day Forty Two

"Lord Jellal!" someone screeches.

A servant scurries into the great hall. His feet barely leave the ground. His hands fidget nervously. His eyes dart from side to side.

"Speak now!" Jellal roars.

The servant skids to a stop. He shivers lightly. His hands fidget even more. He glances around the room nervously.

"Lord Jellal…" he stammers. "There has been news… Your voyage to the distant land has been… Erm, it has been of no use. The troops still suffer low morale."

"This is the news you bring me? Be gone!" he thunders.

The servant flees faster than thought. The door slams. The sound echoes. His fearful cries linger on in the room.

Erza giggles. She shakes her head in what is meant to be disapproval. It's all a lie. The man's reaction was too amusing.

"You're so unfair," her eyes shine with mirth.

"I can't myself with him. He's meek and amusing," Jellal agrees.

She strides over to his throne. Her hands close around his. She nods slowly.

"I'm glad that I have your approval to tease my servants," he teases.

"This isn't just teasing though. You're smiling," she responds. "Your smile is honest. I can feel it with my heart. This is exactly what you've been waiting for. You won't be anyone's puppet anymore."

He sighs with relief. "I only have to wait until the Eldars make their move. When they try to lift the army's morale I can become the true king,"

"What do you plan to do?" she whispers.

He rests his forehead against hers. "I'm going to return this world to its original state. The crown will go to whoever held it before. This tower is enough,"

Day Sixty Four

A storm sweeps across the sea. The day is dark. The clouds roar with thunder. Lightning sparks violently and illuminates the black sky. The strength of the wind is enough to make the tower tremble.

It's in the quaking tower that Erza finds herself trapped. The servants have all evacuated themselves. They're hiding somewhere in the lower levels. She was barred from going down. The ban was most likely lifted. Jellal has changed many rules for her.

However, she wasn't inclined to ever ask. Now, as she races through the corridors, the ominous sound of steps echo in pursuit. She's run for hours upon hours. Her limbs ache terribly. This isn't like the games she and Jellal sometimes play. The atmosphere is too dark for that.

Jellal is sealed inside the great hall. He's with representatives of the Eldars. She can't interrupt the meeting. She's believed to be dead. Even if that isn't an issue she can't enter. The fate of the world rests with Jellal's reign. He has to return the world, as best as he can, to how it was.

There's an ache in her throat. She wants to scream his name. Her body is on the verge of collapsing. Her time has lowered her stamina and endurance. She isn't capable of fleeing from such a persistent pursuer. There are no signs of the person growing weaker. The speed of the pursuit has remained constant.

Erza trips on a small indention on the floor. She flies forward and crashes to the ground. Her left leg stings painfully as she tries to stand. Her hand closes around her knee. Her eyes widen in horror. Hot blood floods from her wound.

She lies down. The light from the storm is unable to reach her. She covers her mouth with her free hand. Her mind wills her heart to stop racing. She sure that her pursuer can hear it.

For a long moment the sound of footsteps grows steadily louder. Her eyes are closed as she tries to suppress her growing worry. It makes her heart race. The speed increases exponentially. Shadows won't be enough to stop a pursuer of that calibre.

Two hands grasp under her shoulders. She's pulled along the floor. Her pursuer's footsteps stop. She tries to open her eyes but her open wound bumps against an uneven area of the ground. She hisses and winces.

"This meeting is over," Jellal snarls. "Go back. This wasn't a part of our deal."

Day Seventy Two

Erza, unusually dressed in black, approaches Jellal slowly. Her approach is tentative and wary. The Eldars have become untrusting of him. Most of the servants abandoned him during the storm. He has few allies left. There are even fewer willing to do anything more than pledge their allegiance.

The day suitably drear. The downpour has continued for days. The sky is an endless grey. She smiles sadly. At one point she had grown tired of hearing that word. She knows that her comrade's will despise her actions. She's determined to play her part.

"Jellal…" she stands still a few feet from him.

He doesn't look up. The arm of his throne holds a scroll. The black quill is lying next to it. He's working tirelessly because of her weakness. She doesn't blame him for his prolonged silence. She doesn't blame him for giving her the cold shoulder.

She strides over to him in three steps. Her hands close around his. She flinches at the temperature of his hands. He's little more than ice. He tries to push her away but she refuses to let go.

"Let me go," he snarls.

"I won't," she whispers.

"Go away. I'm working," he warns.

"I won't!" she protests.

"I mean it, go-" he warns.

"I love you…" she whispers.

He's silenced. His eyes turn to her. She nods slowly but won't meet his gaze. Her warm hands close around his. She pulls them towards her heart.

"Look me in the eye and say that," he demands.

She smiles and obliges. "I love you,"

A nervous feeling erupts in his stomach. He looks her over when realisation hits him. The atmosphere is wrong for a confession.

"Were you with them?" his voice is almost silent. "Do you stand with the Eldars?"

"I wronged you. That day, I should have been prepared. You're all alone again," she sighs and looks him in the eye. "Now I'll give you the greatest allies you will ever know."

Erza smiles at him sadly.

"No!" Jellal exclaims.

He's too late. The knife has pierced her stomach. He catches her before she can fall. She gasps as blood rushes from the wound.

Jellal falls to his knees. His arms wrap more tightly around her. The flow is too fast. He isn't a healer. He can do nothing more for her than be there at the end.

"I'm sorry," she chokes.

"Don't be," he whimpers.

"I am…" she slumps against him. "The one left behind suffers the most…"

As her last breathes fade away her final gift comes to life. The small band of allies standing outside the door hold their tears back. Their rescue operation has failed. They know who they will be told to blame. The Eldars deserve death for taking her away in the first place. They know they will lie and go along with the pretence. It's what she wanted.

That's why her letter made it onto the boat they were raiding. That's why she set her date for their arrival. The day of the storm was the day she sealed her own fate.

**Author's Note: Yes, this is another Chinese Paladin reference. I can't help myself. That is the best thing that's ever happened to me! I have been inspired by so many different facets of simply the existence of such a beautiful, amazing… Okay, onto Fairy Tail now. The show / manga is all right. The whole thing is too 'happy-happy' for me. I mean, the Guild is destroyed and attacked and no one dies? Come on! One measly death would have been fine! Oh well, this is probably how this came about. Yes, I have answered for everything really. I have hinted and answered and there you go. There should be 0 plot holes. So, thank you for reading Torment! I hope that you've enjoyed this tale. I apologise if you are, in any way, dissatisfied.**

**Part of the Revival Collection.**


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